


Like There's No Red Lights

by navigatorsghost



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Alt-Mode Sexual Interfacing, Consensual Kink, Control, Crossover, Developing Relationship, Driving, Fantasy Fulfillment, M/M, Porn With Backstory, Porn With Plot, Power Exchange, Public Sex, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Transformers as Humans, erotic improvisation, established crossfaction relationship, technically human/TF sex, trust and intimacy, unsuspecting audience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navigatorsghost/pseuds/navigatorsghost
Summary: An unfortunate convergence of circumstances leaves Galvatron trapped in a human body until the Autobots and Decepticons between them can figure out how to turn him back. With nothing else to do but wait, he and his Autobot lover make the best of it... by trying something they probably won't get another chance at.On international television, no less.





	1. Tonight, On Top Gear...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raisedbymoogles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/gifts).



> This is the sequel to [Grab the Wheel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684150/chapters/36533118), which was written for a prompt challenge on Tumblr. I thought I was done at that when I wrote it, but then [raisedbymoogles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles) asked for more and this is what I came up with. Not in continuity with my other Galvatron/Rodimus stuff, only with that one previous fic, and Hot Rod's backstory here is my personal headcanon since he never got an origin story in the cartoon. Title inspired by a line from the Lancelot song "Killer Machine". 
> 
> Disclaimer: the RPF in this fic is purely a framing device used because it worked for the plot. All living real-world people appearing herein are in fact cardboard cutouts and not their actual selves. No Stigs were harmed in the making of this fic.

"Now," said the big man with the broad shoulders, as he leaned forward a little to the studio camera. His deep voice with its distinctive British accent held an edge of mischief that was echoed in twinkling blue eyes. "As you all know, the real point of Top Gear is to get our hands on the fastest, loudest, rarest, most spectacular cars out there. I mean, _yes_ we have to do all the reviews of normal cars too, but what we're _really_ here for? Is the special ones."

He rose a little stiffly to his full, not unimpressive height, and stepped down from the presenters' podium with its cosily arranged sofas to walk through the studio audience. The camera tracked him as he went on talking, gesturing with long, expressive fingers. "And we get _basically_ all of them. We get the Ferraris, we get the Lamborghinis, we get the Paganis, we get the Koenigseggs when they don't decide to eat our track." There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd that he acknowledged with a rueful grin. "But over _here_ , we have what might just be one of the rarest cars ever built anywhere... _on Earth_."

The camera swept across as he walked out into the display circle, revealing a sleek, low, angular supercar painted in an elaborate scheme of red, orange and yellow. Flame decals on the bonnet surrounded a cutaway through which jutted the chromed top of a massive, exotic-looking engine block. More chrome shone on the triple exhaust pipes that ran back along either flank and appeared to entirely seal off what should have been the doors. An extravagantly raked and blue-tinted windscreen swept up to meet a roof that barely skimmed Jeremy Clarkson's hip level as he walked around beside it. "I mean, look at this. Look at those lines. Look at those _exhausts_. Marcello Gandini," his eyebrows arched in emphasis, "came out of semi-retirement to work on this car, and you can tell.

"Looks kind of like a Lamborghini with a bit of American muscle bolted on, doesn't it?" He moved further around the car, indicating the massive Countach-style wing spoiler on its rear. "But it's not. No, this car is quite literally - out of this world." He paused for the obligatory "oooooh" from the audience. "Lamborghini did get in on the design, but under the hood, this is _alien technology_." The eyebrows waggled more fiercely yet. " _Autobot_ technology. You could say it's one part Bertone to one part _Cyber_ -tron-i."

He stepped back. "And you might be wondering why I'm being so careful _not_ to touch it. Well, mostly because... that would be rude." He gestured theatrically towards the car.

Which promptly shivered on its wheels, with a loud clicking, ratcheting sound. Metal parted, shifted, folded, and _rose_ upwards. The massive Top Gear hangar filled with shouts and screams of delighted applause as the Autobot straightened up, grinning down at the crowd. "Hi guys!"

Jeremy beamed. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Hot Rod of the Autobots!" He paused for a moment, both to let the applause die down and to allow Hot Rod to carefully fold his knees and settle into a crouch. "Welcome to Top Gear," he went on, looking up at Hot Rod. "You know, I've done a lot of things in my life that involved cars, but this is the first time I've ever had the chance to interview one. Although come to think of it, do you actually think of yourself _as_ a car? Or is this that we're seeing now the real you?"

"Kinda both? This," Hot Rod gestured to his own frame, "is what we call my root mode. This is me. But my car mode, my altmode, that's me too. I mean, if you really want to interview a car I can change back? I can still talk in my altmode." He grinned.

"No, no, it's okay. The camera crew like being able to see people's faces when I'm talking to them." He returned Hot Rod's grin. "Now, for the benefit of anyone who doesn't remember the headlines at the time, Hot Rod - you were designed  _and_ constructed on Earth, weren't you?"

"That's right. Me and my friend Arcee were built by the Autobots on Earth with a bunch of help from human designers and engineers, as part of the millennium celebrations. The theory was that humans would feel more like they could relate to Cybertronians if some of us had been openly built here and saw Earth as our home, and that the older Autobots could connect more with Earth by working with human experts. I guess we were meant to be kinda interplanetary ambassadors?"

"Makes sense," Jeremy agreed. "What sort of things do you do in your ambassadorial capacity? Do they let you go fast very often?"

Hot Rod laughed, as did most of the crowd. "Oh, a whole lot of stuff. Arcee got really into politics and activism, I got more into trying to bring people together over positive things, you know? I represented the Autobots at a lot of sports events, music festivals, fun stuff like that. And yeah, races, sometimes, but they'd never let me compete. Everyone said it wasn't fair on the human drivers."

"Well, let's be honest, it probably wouldn't have been." Jeremy raised his eyebrows, getting another round of laughter. "I'm curious though, do you feel like you notice the Earth parts of your design a lot? I mean, I take it everything under the bonnet is Transformers witchcraft, but on the outside..." He waved a hand indicatively in Hot Rod's direction.

Hot Rod considered. "Yeah, I feel at home when I'm out on the roads here. A lot of the older Autobots have altmodes that literally copy cars and trucks that already existed when they woke up on Earth, and I guess they blend in better than I do. But honestly it's pretty cool having a unique alt that still feels like it belongs here. Thanks to my designers, if any of them happen to watch this." He grinned at the camera and gave it a little wave.

Jeremy beamed at him. "Sounds like the Autobot millennium project was a stonking success, really. Now, am I right that you were recently promoted from 'just' an ambassador, to the leadership of the Autobots?"

"Yeah, that happened." Hot Rod squirmed slightly. "I'm, uh, still getting used to it. Optimus Prime's legacy is a big responsibility."

"They call you Rodimus Prime now, don't they?"

"Sure, when I _am_ Rodimus Prime, but for us, names kinda go with frames. Right now I'm just Hot Rod again." He smiled a little sheepishly. "It's still me either way, though."

Jeremy nodded, and turned back to the audience. "Well, there you have it. Today on the show he's Hot Rod, but for the record, as Rodimus Prime, he's bigger, he's stronger, he has a fifty-seven-star NCAP rating, and instead of a thoroughbred track machine, he transforms-" Jeremy gestured dramatically as the screen displayed Rodimus's altmode...

"-into a flaming Winnebago," he finished disappointedly, over a depressed trombone sound effect. The audience spluttered with laughter and a few muted "awww!" reactions. Hot Rod was desperately trying not to laugh himself as Jeremy turned back to him. "Tell us the truth, Hot Rod. Is your other altmode really a camper van?"

"I'm afraid so. When people talk about the burden of leadership, now you know what they mean."

"But fortunately, you can take it off and turn back into a Gandini supercar. Are you allowed to tell us how you do that?"

"Ah, that part's classified. I'm not supposed to do it too often, but I figured I couldn't come on Top Gear as an RV or, y'know, you were going to laugh at me."

"You're not wrong," Jeremy conceded. "Now, usually when we have a star on the show, we put them in our reasonably priced car and send them out to do a lap of our track. However, since in this case our star _is_ a car in his own right, and a very impressive one, we decided to give him a crack at our _other_ leaderboard." He gestured to the Power Lap board where it had been wheeled into position at his side. "Do you want to see how a giant alien robot did round the Top Gear Track?"

There was a roar of assent from the crowd.

"All right, we'll show you Hot Rod's 'hottest' lap in a moment, but there was one tiny little issue we had to consider first. Every car we've tested around the Top Gear Track has had a few important features in common. Like, oh, four wheels. A gearbox. A steering column. And... a driver.

"Which meant that if we'd sent Hot Rod out to do his lap by himself, he'd have had a sixty-odd-kilo weight advantage over all the other cars that were driven round the track by the Stig. We agreed that wasn't really fair, but when we asked the Stig if he'd, well, ride along for this lap and keep his hands and feet to himself for once, this happened."

The studio's screen cut to display the image of a sullen Stig folding his arms, shaking his head slowly, and turning his back to walk away across the Top Gear Track. The shot held for longer than seemed reasonable as the Stig vanished into the distance, and laughter rippled through the audience.

"Our producer's still out there somewhere trying to convince him to come back," Jeremy said as the screen faded. "So instead, we had to get a substitute." He paused. "We haven't been allowed to know his name for reasons of intergalactic security, but some say he's the most dangerous person in the universe, and that he once took a bath in a volcano and didn't melt. All we know is... he's not the Stig." He gestured to the screen again. "He's the Stig's Decepticon cousin!"

The new image that appeared showed a set of steps and the bottom of a portakabin door opening, slowly and with an inexplicable air of menace. A Stiglike entity emerged into view, boots first, descending the steps slowly and dramatically to stand foursquare on the ground.

The camera swept upwards, revealing a tall, trim-hipped, broad-shouldered figure in a white bodysuit striped with violet and gold, arms folded just below the Decepticon insignia blazoned across his breast. Despite the expressionless black visor of his purple racing helmet, the slight dip of his head as he stared into the camera was somehow utterly intimidating.

Hot Rod was grateful that the entire studio audience was staring at the screen in fascination. It meant that it wouldn't matter if he couldn't entirely hide the fact that he was biting his lip.


	2. How Hard Can It Be?

The last two weeks had not been easy for anyone on either faction. That Galvatron and Rodimus Prime had been captured together in the most compromising of circumstances by the mysterious Black Lynx organisation was embarrassing enough, and that alone would have sent both Autobots and Decepticons into crisis. That their captors had somehow managed to transfer Galvatron's spark into a human body only added a whole new dimension of chaos to the situation - and while that _should_ have been an effective way of wrangling the almost limitlessly powerful Herald of Unicron down to a manageable format, the Black Lynx had apparently made the same mistake everyone did, which was to assume that Galvatron's true might lay only in his firepower and heavy armour. They hadn't reckoned with his indomitable will, intuitive brilliance, or ungovernable temper - all of which had survived the transfer process entirely intact, and been immediately brought to bear on the goal of making the Black Lynx collectively sorry that their _grandmothers_ had ever been born.

Which the survivors almost certainly were, wherever they had escaped to; but since Galvatron had burned most of their base to the ground in the process of freeing himself and Rodimus, reverse engineering the body-swap process was proving to be a challenge. The Autobots had been morally compelled in the end to let Galvatron stay on Earth in Autobot City, because Charr's atmosphere didn't have a high enough oxygen content for him to go back there in his current guise and also because a six-foot-tall, organic Galvatron would have been at far too high a risk of a treasonous false step from some of the less loyal Decepticons. Nobody was happy about the necessity of the Decepticon Emperor staying in an Autobot base, least of all Galvatron himself, but it was the best solution anyone had been able to come up with.

So he stayed, and paced Autobot City's corridors and threw suggestions interspersed with rants at Perceptor while the scientist tried to come up with a working reversal device, and spent painful amounts of time on long-range comms with Cyclonus except when the Decepticon 2IC came by in person. Rodimus would never tell anyone how much his spark had simultaneously ached and melted at the sight of Galvatron standing precariously on the edge of a console as Cyclonus knelt down to his eye level, dignified and deferential as ever while both of them valiantly tried to act like nothing was wrong. It _was_ wrong, it was desperately wrong and one look at the way Cyclonus was locking his aura down to hide his distress would have told anyone as much, but if clinging to their version of normality helped them cope, Rodimus wasn't going to say a word.

And on top of all of the stress and worry and the effort of doing his best to protect Galvatron while not letting Galvatron notice that that was what he was doing, Rodimus's treacherous frame was having all kinds of problematic urges that he was trying to ignore. Before all of this, he and Galvatron had been - well, _hadn't_ been - well, it wasn't exactly simple. They hadn't even really talked about it, either way, but Rodimus had been _going_ to talk about it. At some point. Just as soon as he could get past the stage of falling helplessly into Galvatron's arms every time the two of them managed to get each other alone-

-and then the Black Lynx had caught them at it, and now _everyone knew_ and they _still_ hadn't actually talked about it, and it was all cataclysmically awkward and they couldn't even distract themselves from the problem by 'facing each other dizzy anymore. Rodimus had tentatively considered looking into the possibilities of organic/mecha interfacing, but Galvatron despised his current form and the last thing he seemed to want to do was start exploring its more exotic features, so Rodimus had decided very quickly not to push that suggestion.

And then, into all of this drama, there had been injected an additional rogue element. In the form of a letter from the British Broadcasting Corporation, wanting to know if the Autobots would be willing to consider sending a representative to appear on a pokey little motoring show called _Top Gear_.

There had almost been a battle royal in Autobot City on the spot. The vast majority of the Autobots were Top Gear fans, and the prospect of appearing on the show had brought out everyone's competitive side. It had been Jazz who had pointed out that the Autobots had a pair of purpose-built ambassadors whose original roles had been to interact with humans for positive interspecies engagement, and therefore it would be logical and save everyone a lot of dents if one of them got the job.

He'd really meant Arcee. He hadn't meant Hot Rod, because Hot Rod was stuck being Rodimus Prime and had more important things to do. But Rodimus had had a sudden flashback to Galvatron's throwaway words as they were battling their way free of the Black Lynx's mountain compound...

 _Blame the Matrix,_  Rodimus had said. _I didn't ask for this altmode!_

 _I knew there was a good reason to rip that thing out of you!_  Galvatron had flung back at him, probably not even thinking what he was saying, and Rodimus had gone all kinds of shivery because _Galvatron had been driving him at the time_ and ever since then he hadn't been able to stop imagining Galvatron driving him _as Hot Rod_. There was no possible way that wouldn't feel _incredible_ , and he'd been resisting the temptation to bring it up but the Top Gear invitation was the final straw.

He'd talked to Arcee.

It had turned out Arcee didn't really _want_ to be on Top Gear. She didn't like the casual everything-ism and was fairly sure she'd get heckled for being pink, and she'd been more than willing to support him when he'd gone to Ultra Magnus and Kup to pitch the idea of his going in her stead. As Hot Rod, with the Matrix left safely in Ultra Magnus's custody and with the whole of Autobot City to protect it and him. It would only be for a day's filming, what could possibly go wrong?

He still couldn't believe he'd managed to talk them into it. And then having achieved that, he'd had to talk _Galvatron_ into it, and that had gone...

...unexpectedly easily. "So," Galvatron had said when Rodimus explained. "You're suggesting _I_ drive you for this human spectacle?"

Organic frame or not, the gleam in Galvatron's eyes was unmistakable and Rodimus felt a quiver run through his chassis. "You did say something last time about ripping the Matrix out of me and trying it again," he'd replied, keeping his voice low and dearly hoping Metroplex wasn't paying attention to this conversation. Just _thinking_ about that memory would've been enough to make his capacitors feel tight, let alone bringing it up with Galvatron again out loud.

"I did, didn't I?" Galvatron had murmured, disingenuous in that particular way that meant he knew exactly what effect he was having. "All right, Prime, why not? It's not as though I have anything better to do!"

"I'll try and make it fun for you," Rodimus had said, trying to sound snarky and only succeeding in making Galvatron grin all too wickedly. And then he'd had to go and pitch _that_ part of the plan to the rest of his command staff, and _that_ had been when all the shouting happened that he'd been expecting earlier.

But they'd agreed. It wasn't like they technically had the right to refuse, although Ultra Magnus had made a very strong case for having Galvatron remain incognito on the broadcast. There were some things, and Rodimus did have to agree with him on this, that Earth in general just did not need to know about.

And now, after everything, here they were. Rodimus - Hot Rod, for now - had thrown himself shamelessly into enjoying the experience. For all that he'd mostly accepted the honour and responsibility of being the Prime to the best of his abilities, it was _so good_ to get a break, especially in his original form. It felt glorious to be able to transform without feeling instantly shadowed by the bulk of an overcab and dragged back by the weight of his trailer. The increased power of Rodimus Prime's engine had never truly made up for how unwieldy the heavy RV bodyshell felt, even though he knew his Prime frame wasn't really that much slower... well, in a straight line it wasn't, at least. As had been demonstrated back at the Black Lynx compound, one thing it certainly _didn't_ do as well as Hot Rod's car mode was get round corners. It really was true that you didn't know what you had till you lost it, and Hot Rod had never felt so excited at the prospect of some nice tight bends in his life.

Then again, that might also have had something to do with the thought of just who was going to be with him in those bends. To Hot Rod's relief, Galvatron had taken the whole affair thus far in his stride, going so far as to switch on his Decepticon Emperor charisma at full force and charm the daylights out of most of the Top Gear staff. He hadn't even balked at disguising himself for the cameras and not getting a speaking role, especially since the wardrobe department had indulged his demands to the last detail when it came to the design of his "Stig" racing suit. The blazoned Decepticon badge and the familar purple, white and gold did, Hot Rod had to secretly admit, look fantastic.

They'd had to resolve the arrangements for the track time-trial filming, though. According to standard Top Gear procedure, there would have been a camera in Hot Rod's interior the whole time so that the final footage of him on track could be intercut with a peek at whatever his personal Stig-atron happened to be doing. Galvatron had balked, making outraged noises about being spied on, and Hot Rod had hastily intervened to confirm that yes, he did feel kind of uncomfortable about being filmed from the _inside_ while he was trying to concentrate on timed laps, and could they maybe just take a bit of fake footage at the very end for the interior shots? Fortunately, since the Top Gear team really didn't want to antagonise the greatest celebrity scoop of this and several previous seasons, that had been declared acceptable.

Which cleared the way to finally start on the actual, all-important _driving_.

"Usually we'd say do about four, six laps tops," Andy Wilman, Top Gear's producer, said to Hot Rod as they walked out to the starting line. "Tyres and things tend to start giving up by then. But you... well, knock yourself out. You know better than we do what you can handle out there."

"I was hoping you'd let me do a few for fun," Hot Rod admitted. "It's Autobot policy to stick to speed limits when we're on public highways unless it's a real emergency, so..." He gave Andy a conspiratorial look.

The producer fairly beamed, and tipped him an answering wink. "You know what? Just - just come back in when you're done."

Hot Rod couldn't do a thing to suppress his grin. "You got it!"

Andy backed away, letting Hot Rod and Galvatron stand alone together on the weathered grey asphalt of the Top Gear Track. There was a moment of tingling tension between them as all the activity around them faded into the background, leaving the two of them looking at each other in anticipation... and Hot Rod realised, very suddenly, that they hadn't really discussed what came next. Galvatron had agreed to drive him, their official mission was to get the best lap time they could manage, and that was as far as they'd negotiated.

But he'd been the one to bring up what had happened at the Black Lynx compound. He'd as good as _asked_ Galvatron, _do that to me again,_ and now they were here, he felt a shiver run up his spinal strut. The way Galvatron was looking up at him, hands on hips and head tilted in a pose that was so familiar despite the human frame and the unreadable black of his visor, only made his neural nets prickle harder.

"Well," he said, shoving all that delicious anticipation down beneath the thickest layer of bravado he could muster, "what are we waiting for?" He transformed, dropping to the track and folding his cockpit canopy open.

Switching to altmode came with a shift in his senses. He was suddenly vividly aware of the well-worn tarmac beneath his wheels, the spatter of rain that fell from the grey English sky to prickle against his plating. His altmode's more powerful engine rumbled as it kicked in and took over from his lighter and far quieter root mode engine, his whole frame quite literally vibrating with anticipation.

That sensation only intensified as Galvatron put a hand on his side - casual, proprietary - and vaulted over Hot Rod's cockpit sill. He landed heavily, his weight slamming solidly into the driver's seat, and Hot Rod swallowed back a gasp. He knew Galvatron _could_ be gentle when it suited him, more so than probably anyone else would have believed; and yet, secretly and shamefully, Hot Rod loved it when he _wasn't_.

He closed his canopy with a sleek slide of hydraulics, sealing his lover inside himself. Somehow it felt more intimate by far than letting Galvatron in the cab of his RV mode had done. Maybe because his car frame had lower, deeper seats that let him feel Galvatron's weight and presence so much more closely... or just because despite having had the Matrix for over a year now, this altmode still felt so much more like _his_ than Rodimus Prime's did.

Or maybe because he'd been fantasising about this for the last fortnight, though admitting that out loud would have come hard to him. Fortunately, he wasn't called upon to do so. Galvatron pulled off his helmet and tossed it into the passenger footwell, shaking out his unruly dark hair. "Ready?" he demanded, violet eyes gleaming in anticipation.

"Are you sure you want to take that off?"

"You told them to leave the cameras and microphones out of here, didn't you?!" Galvatron waved an impatient hand, but his lips were curled in a wicked grin. "I want to be able to talk to you, Hot Rod."

"Well, yes, but it's safety equipment..." Hot Rod didn't sound convinced, or convincing. The idea of Galvatron wanting to _talk_ to him while they were doing this was sending delicious little hot shivers through his systems, and he had no real desire to object whatsoever.

"Bah! I trust you far more than I trust this worthless human paraphernalia!" Galvatron did put his seatbelt on, but Hot Rod suspected that was simply to make sure he could stay in his seat when things got exciting. He knew Cyclonus had magnetic retaining locks in his pilot's seat and that Galvatron invariably used those, too - apparently, the only way anyone was allowed to restrain Galvatron was if they let him at their controls in exchange. And _oh help that was so hot._ Hot Rod was more than happy to make that trade... also, wait, had Galvatron just casually let slip that _he trusted him?_ Oh. _Oh._

Just as well he had Galvatron to drive him, really. If he went out there right now on his own, he felt fairly certain that he'd drive straight into a wall. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he managed, and he could hear his own voice trembling.

"I have every faith in you, Chosen One," Galvatron murmured, and ran a caressing hand down the side of his steering wheel. Casually, _possessively_. "You know that!"

"Hhh-!" He was glad it was difficult to visibly squirm in his altmode. "Dammit, Galvatron, don't turn me on like that, we're in _public..._ " ... _please don't stop_.

"Turn you on?!" Galvatron lowered his voice to a heated growl that sounded _so_ much like his usual tones, even with the limitations of a human vocal range. "Hot Rod, if you haven't overloaded for me at _least_ once by the end of this ridiculous exercise, I'm going to be _very_ disappointed in both of us!"

...overload in _altmode?_  He knew it was possible, in theory - but for _him_ , without even the Matrix to boost his power? And without a partner who could plug in to give him enough charge to do it... was Galvatron really thinking that he could push Hot Rod that far with nothing but, well, _being Galvatron_?

He checked his capacitor gauges - and abruptly realised that he didn't think it was impossible either. Oh _Primus_. "Okay, Galvatron. Challenge accepted!" He only hoped Galvatron could hear in his voice how much Hot Rod wanted him to actually _do_ it.

But Galvatron _laughed_ , and Hot Rod knew instantly that he _absolutely could_. "Very well!" He tapped Hot Rod's gas pedal, and Hot Rod shuddered in delight as his engine revved in response. It felt so strange to be _controlled_ , to not know ahead of time what his systems were about to do.

He thought that under most circumstances he would have found it deeply uncomfortable. But letting _Galvatron_ have control of him like this only gave him delicious flashbacks to their reckless escape from the Black Lynx compound... and, too, to their various clandestine meetings before that. His circuits thrilled with the sudden rush of memories, of giving himself up in terror and delight to Galvatron's strength and power and unpredictable whims, to the warlord's hands and his mouth and the searing heat of the wild charge crackling between them-

-and Galvatron's hand dropped onto the top of his gearstick and Galvatron's boot went down on his clutch pedal, and he had a fraction of a second to tense in glorious anticipation before he shot off the line with his tyres screeching, and all thought deserted him in a V8 scream of ecstasy. _Yes!_

It took all of three corners for Hot Rod to conclude that this was absolutely the best decision he'd made in his _life_. If he'd thought Galvatron's driving at the wheel of his RV mode had been spectacular,  _this_ was unbelievable. Violet eyes narrowed and every muscle tense with combat-level concentration, the Herald of Unicron was giving this new challenge everything he had and Hot Rod was overwhelmed with sensation and feedback within seconds. And every bit of it was _wonderful_.

Days earlier, he'd talked to Cyclonus before he'd even broached this whole idea with Galvatron. Mostly because he knew it wasn't fair to borrow Cyclonus's beloved pilot without at least checking that the jetwarrior was okay with it - though Cyclonus's wistful half-smile as he nodded his consent had hurt Rodimus's spark - but also because Cyclonus would know what he'd need to _do_ to get the best out of this opportunity, in all possible senses. It had turned out that the answer was "as little as possible". Cyclonus himself had extensive one-way gating and locks in his systems that disabled his conscious somatic controls and even swathes of his autonomic responses, so that Galvatron could pilot him without having to worry about Cyclonus accidentally twitching at the wrong moment. Hot Rod, who had never been intended to have a real driver, had nothing remotely like those and couldn't possibly get them installed.

He'd done the best he could to put together a set of protocols for _being driven_ that would roughly duplicate the effect. His conscious control of his altmode was offline, his anti-collision overrides, traction control and more were disabled. The main thing he'd made sure he kept control of was his transformation cog, and that was only so that if anything went really wrong, he'd be able to avert a crash and protect Galvatron. Which was a ridiculous thought, but there was no getting around the fact that Galvatron's current body was desperately vulnerable compared to what his risk assessment protocols were used to. Hot Rod hadn't wanted to leave anything to chance.

What he hadn't considered was that once they were doing this under live conditions, he'd be too out of his processors on mechadrenaline and pleasure to consider keeping control of _anything_. He tried to find his voice, was distracted almost instantly by the glorious burn of his tyres skidding on the asphalt as Galvatron threw him into the next bend with all four wheels briefly locked. White smoke billowed from under his wheelarches but that was nothing to worry about, Cybertronian tyre compounds were resilient in ways their Earth equivalents couldn't dream of and the only pain he felt was the really, _really_ good kind. He let out an incoherent whimper as Galvatron snapped the wheel around, caught them neatly out of the resultant slide, and hammered his foot to the boards to push them into the following straight. "Hnnngh!"

Galvatron laughed at his helpless squeak. The Herald pressed his thumb to the inside of Hot Rod's steering wheel and _rubbed_ teasingly over the tight-woven stitching there, and _oh_ how was that one tiny touch suddenly the most overwhelming sensation in the universe despite the storm of sensory input he was getting from his entire frame? "Having fun, Hot Rod?!"

" _Gnnnhhh..._ " He rebooted his vocaliser, in the dim hope of extracting a bit more coherence from it. "This is fantastic, I love it... whoa!" He was unexpectedly sideways again, and it felt amazing but it was _so distracting_. "Galvatron..."

" _Trust me,_ " Galvatron murmured, with a flash of white teeth in his smile, and Hot Rod shivered to his struts at his tone and words both.

The first lap ended in a blur, Galvatron acknowledging the start/finish line with the briefest sideways glance at the cameraman crouching alongside it. "Now, Hot Rod, let's try this properly!" He grinned wolfishly.

"As opposed to what, _im_ properly?" Hot Rod gasped, laughing mostly from sheer exhilaration. He certainly felt anything but proper right now.

"I _meant_ that was just a test run! We both know the track now - how fast was that lap?"

"Uh-" Oh, how it must grate on Galvatron to have to ask that, to be stuck in an organic body with no universal dead-reckoner and not just _know_. Hot Rod had been running a timer, just not exactly looking at it, and he fumbled through the barrage of incoming data to check. "One minute, nineteen point six seconds."

"Is that _all?_ We can take ten seconds off that-" he paused in mid-word to stamp on the brakes and whip the steering wheel over through the Hammerhead corner, and Hot Rod couldn't hold back a moan as the resultant rush of pleasure poured fire into his capacitor banks "-are you even taking this seriously?!"

"Honestly Galvatron I struggle to take _anything_ besides you seriously when you're - _ahhh_ \- doing things like this to me!" Timed laps be damned, he didn't want to concentrate on anything but Galvatron's hands on his controls and Galvatron's weight pressed hard into his seat by the G-forces in the corners, the scalding ache in his engine and the rush of the wind streaming across his spoiler and the scuff and burn of hot rubber meeting road. He hadn't driven like this since before he was Rodimus Prime, he hadn't been _touched_ like this ever in his _life_ , and his lover's ruthless skill and aggression at the wheel were pure _Galvatron_ and Hot Rod couldn't get enough.

Galvatron laughed, fond and wicked, obviously taking Hot Rod's words exactly the way he'd meant them. "I'll keep that in mind!" the Herald retorted gleefully, "-rrgh!" He'd thrown Hot Rod into Bentley Bend so hard that they'd skimmed the tyre wall there by inches and Hot Rod rocked on his suspension at the sudden whack of wind that resulted. " _There!_ That's more like it!"

"...right," Hot Rod managed, heroically trying not to throw his own handling off by squirming as his circuits throbbed with charge. "Okay, you know what you're doing, I'll just... _mmmmh_..." Damn it, he couldn't even get to the end of a _sentence_ without having to make embarrassing noises, _why was Galvatron so good at doing things like this to him?_ It wasn't fair - not that that in any way meant he wanted it to _stop_ , he was just _stating it for the record_ in the privacy of his own processors, _ohh_...

"Just what?!" Galvatron demanded over the roar of Hot Rod's engine as they powered down the straight. His teeth were bared in delighted exhilaration.

Hot Rod really wished his lover still had a working aura in this form, because being close to Galvatron when he had that look on his face always felt like being soaked in a sun's corona and Hot Rod loved it. Human EM fields were so weak you could barely pick up anything in them. "Just relax and enjoy it," he managed playfully, trying as best he could to tease back despite the fact that it was a struggle not to _beg_ Galvatron to keep doing all of this to him, to push him even harder and _break_ him on the limit of what his frame was capable of...

He had a terrifying, wonderful suspicion that Galvatron wasn't going to need to be _asked_ to do that.

"As long as you keep your optic on that timer!" Galvatron told him, as they skidded right at the edge of the asphalt through Gambon corner and Hot Rod _almost_ lost contact with the ground on his inside wheels. "And... _mark!_ How fast was that?!"

"Uhh... one minute, eleven point eight three seconds." That was almost eight seconds off the first lap... which meant Galvatron still thought they could get faster than that. Hot Rod opened up all his cooling systems to full capacity, diverted a bit more power away from his processors and into his drivetrain, and hung on for all he was worth.

They shaved another second and a half off the third lap. Another four-tenths off the fourth. Galvatron's eyes were narrowed and his teeth bared as he pushed Hot Rod ever harder, using every scrap of knowledge and skill and raw instinct he possessed. A human body might not have the lightning-fast processors or the vast libraries of data that let Galvatron do some of the more improbable things he was usually capable of, but instincts honed in the fury of space battle seemed to have translated across just fine and he was driving as though there was gunfire stitching the ground at Hot Rod's tailpipes. Hot Rod's engine felt like it was glowing white-hot under his hood, his tyres weren't _really_ on the verge of melting but his sensornets totally thought they were, his suspension ached from end to end and all of it was utterly intoxicating. His capacitor banks were throbbing with charge and he was gasping every time Galvatron touched _anything_ , and if he'd been having to take any responsibility whatsoever for his own driving right now he would probably have gone off the track backwards at the next corner.

But, perversely, the resultant sense of utter powerlessness just made this better. He was on fire from the inside with heat and charge and pleasure and the sheer intensity of this, the wonderful, illicit thrill of feeling Galvatron touch him with such supreme confidence and of _having to obey_. The combined emotional and physical rush was unbelievable; he wanted more, he _needed_ more, and he had no doubt at all now that Galvatron really could get him off like this and _Primus help him he wanted it so bad_. "Galvatron," he panted, struggling to summon the coherence for speech. " _Please,_ I'm so close...!"

" _How_ close, Hot Rod?!"

Galvatron's voice was taut and harsh with strain, but Hot Rod knew that tone; that wasn't anger, that was just Galvatron balancing concentration and physical effort and the will to dominate all at the same time, and it made his struts melt with shivering desire. "Nnnn... ninety-two percent," he began, managing just enough focus to check his capacitor gauges, and then he moaned desperately as his rear wheels slid out for a moment before Galvatron caught him with a quick correction to the steering and a heavy boot to the gas pedal. " _Okay_  make that ninety-four, _wow_..."

And Galvatron grinned, sharp and wild. "All right! Switch all your relays to input and put your interlocks on!"

"What-?" He didn't understand, how was that going to-

"Trust me and do it! Who's driving?!"

...oh _Primus_. Hot Rod scrambled to obey, scrabbling through his sensation-giddy processors to find the command strings he needed. "You are - oh, oh, _Galvatron_... okay, done it!"

"Good! _Now_ , hold on tight..." And as they emerged from the Hammerhead and turned onto the straight, Galvatron lined them up, put his foot to the floorboards, and flicked open the cover that concealed Hot Rod's onboard gunnery controls. Hot Rod had just time to thrill at the touch and wonder what Galvatron was _doing_ , and then Galvatron tapped the charging switches for his guns down.

-oh. _Oh._ Of course. The guns _should_ charge from his main capacitor banks, but with his interlocks set as Galvatron had ordered him, they couldn't. Which meant that the charge command routed to his engine instead, and his systems flooded with freshly-generated charge that he totally didn't have space to hold right now and-

"Interlocks off, Hot Rod!"

-he hit two hundred miles an hour and a hundred percent charge at almost exactly the same moment, and he was fairly sure that he'd never overloaded so hard in his life. His frame shook so violently that his steering wheel ripped through Galvatron's hands as he slid sideways on the track, and Galvatron cursed and caught him with an iron grip that only made him squirm harder in utter ecstasy. "Ah - hah - hah - _oh yes Galvatron yes yes-!_ " He could feel static discharge arcing beneath his plating and flames spitting from his exhausts, he was screaming shamelessly and praying the trackside cameras weren't picking it up, and if he hadn't learned by now never to doubt Galvatron then let this stand as testament. Because yes, just as Galvatron had threatened him, he had totally just blown his banks _in altmode_ not to mention in front of Primus, half of Top Gear's camera crew and quite possibly an international TV audience if that moment made it to air, and he had _never imagined it could feel this good_.

The only thing that could have made it better would have been if he could have brought Galvatron off with him, but apparently, human bodies didn't work like that. Which in Hot Rod's opinion was an evolutionary tragedy. He wasn't entirely aware for a moment of where he was or what was happening to his frame, until he was shocked out of his trance of bliss by the violent jolt of turbulence as they shot through Bentley Bend again... okay, yes, maybe just as well Galvatron _hadn't_ had to deal with the distraction of an overload right then because _wow that tyre wall had been close_. He gasped and shivered and tried to refocus on what was going on. "Galvatron-?!"

"One more lap, Hot Rod! Last chance to show them what you're made of!" Galvatron's voice was gleeful, _proud_ , and his right hand briefly caressed Hot Rod's gearstick with the fierce, focused possessiveness that was as close as the Herald of Unicron ever came to tenderness.

And predictably, Hot Rod melted inside all over again at that touch. "Like they haven't seen enough already," he managed, trying to laugh at himself before he could get too embarrassed. "That was so good, _wow_... I owe you as soon as you're back in your real body, don't let me get away without paying you back for this." He was going to spend as much time and effort as it took to return this particular favour on any terms Galvatron desired, he privately swore it.

Galvatron's answering laugh was as wicked as if he was plugged right into Hot Rod and could read his mind. "Don't worry, I won't!" he promised. "But for now, pay attention and let's beat these organics at their own game!" His foot went down hard and they shot across the start line once again, and Hot Rod scrambled to pull himself together and tried to obey.

It was easier now that he'd gotten all that charge out of his systems, he had to admit. He could relax a little more and lean in to Galvatron's hand on the wheel, and not accidentally throw himself off-balance by squirming at the wrong moment. _So that's why Cyclonus has those autonomic locks,_  he thought briefly - and instantly killfiled that processor thread, because thinking about exactly how it must feel to be Cyclonus being piloted by Galvatron _in battle_ was a distraction he did _not_ need right now, even if _wow..._

 _Racing. Pay attention._ Right. He turned his awareness outwards, trying to feel the road under him and ride out the corners as he hit them, finally actually watching his onboard timer as it ticked off the seconds. The wind sang over his bodywork and cooled his quivering frame, the track unreeled ahead of him in what seemed like slow motion and he felt like he was _flying_ , like this was _easy_ all of a sudden; and maybe it was just the clarity of a post-overload high, but it was exactly what he needed right now and he rejoiced in it. His competitive instincts, which had been mostly drowned out by the thrill of surrendering to Galvatron's touch, finally flared up and let him _focus_ , let him have the rush and the bit of extra power that came only from _wanting_ to win, and he watched the timer like his life depended on it and flung himself with his whole spark into doing whatever Galvatron needed him to do to get them around this track in the best time _ever_.

And then, for the final time, they crossed the line. Galvatron hit the brakes hard enough that Hot Rod's back wheels couldn't slow down as fast as his front ones and he spun out, peeling black arcs across the asphalt in a one-eighty slide, and came to a stop backwards, trembling all over and trying not to laugh from sheer delight. Galvatron let himself lean back in his seat and relax, shaking his head, grinning. "Time?" he demanded.

Hot Rod told him. "We did it," he said. "And okay. Okay. I'm fine. I'm together, I'm focused, I am _totally fit to be on TV right now..._ "

"Excellent!" Galvatron laughed, and gave his steering wheel a final squeeze before letting go to reach down and scoop his Stig helmet from the footwell. Hot Rod gave him a moment to make sure his disguise was restored, before popping his canopy and letting Galvatron vault to the ground outside.

He felt a surge of private glee at seeing the Herald briefly stagger as his feet touched the tarmac. It was nice to know it wasn't just him. He transformed, rather unsteadily, as Andy Wilman came jogging over to them, the producer grinning all over his face.

"Brilliant!" Andy said exultantly. "One minute seventeen point five was our official record and you just blew it away. Score one to Cybertron." He looked up at Hot Rod. " _And_ you made it look easy. Did you have a good time?"

"Hell yeah." Hot Rod straightened up, trying not to let his own knees wobble. Falling over now would ruin Andy's opinion of him, not to mention whatever bit of the track he landed on. "That," he confirmed, after a moment's due consideration, "was _awesome._ "

Andy looked nearly as delighted as Hot Rod felt.


	3. Back In The Studio

"Do you want to know how fast that was?"

The crowd were hanging on Jeremy's every word. Hot Rod, aware to the picosecond of what his time had been on that glorious final lap, tried not to grin until he was allowed to. "Sure thing."

Jeremy reached for a magnetic strip and a marker pen. "Autobot... Hot... Rod..." He filled in the time, covered it with his hand and reached up towards the board. "How do you think you did?"

"Pretty good." He shrugged cheerfully. "Up at the top somewhere, I guess."

"Were you happy with that lap?"

"Yeah, I was happy." _You don't even know._

"Well you should've been," Jeremy said with a broad grin. "Because you got round our track... in one minute... eight point two seconds." His hand slid up the board to stick Hot Rod's name strip in pride of place at the very top, and the audience erupted into a storm of delighted applause.

"Awesome!" Hot Rod burst out. Even knowing already that he and Galvatron had beaten the board, it was still a thrill to see the physical confirmation right there. Having a whole hangar full of fans cheering him to the echo only made it better - although he did feel a pang of guilt at taking all the credit. "Hey Jeremy?"

"Mmhm?"

"Could you, ah, edit that strip a bit? I think it should say who my driver was as well." He tried to sound casual.

"Seems reasonable to me," Jeremy said. He took the strip down and balanced it across his knee again. "Autobot Hot Rod... plus... Deceptistig."

Hot Rod spluttered laughter, right along with the crowd. _Sorry Galvatron, it'll have to do._ "Thanks, that's great."

"Thank _you_ ," Jeremy said as he stuck the strip back in place and turned to shake Hot Rod's hand. "Honestly, it has been fantastic having you on the show, and good luck with that whole leader-of-the-Autobots business. Tell 'em to let you out to play now and again. Ladies and gentlemen, Hot Rod of the Autobots!"

The camera pulled back, and cut on Hot Rod's joyful grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: this series now has a final part! [December Decadence Challenge, Chapter 11.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16805194/chapters/40427375)


End file.
